


Dreams, so hard to kill

by Mooonglow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Stiles Stilinski, Nightmares, Non-Human Claudia Stilinski, Panic Attacks, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott is a Good Friend, Season/Series 06, Stiles Stilinski Needs a Hug, self-made Ghost Rider lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-21 14:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30022869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mooonglow/pseuds/Mooonglow
Summary: Stiles is back from the Wild Hunt, the Ghost Riders have been defeated - everything is fine, right? Except that Stiles is feeling increasingly anxious with no apparent reason, plus his mom is suddenly acting weird and, to be honest, creeping him the hell out.In which remembering Stiles didn't lead to Claudia disappearing.
Relationships: Claudia Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Malia Tate
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by that one scene in 6x10 where Ghost Rider Claudia tries to kill Stiles. It was over so quickly and never really addressed, so I decided to drag it out. Mostly canon compliant with the exception that no one noticed anyting weird about Claudia while remembering Stiles, and subsequently the aforementioned scene didn't happen. I made some changes in the Ghost Rider lore because of that.
> 
> I've already written the majority of this story, so expect regular updates every Saturday. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The first time the sensation creeped up his spine was at three in the morning.

Stiles was sitting upright in bed, covered in cold sweat and catching his breath from a nightmare he couldn’t recall, when the door to his room swung open and Mom rushed inside.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” She turned on the bedside lamp, casting the room in long shadows.

He sucked in a deep breath and nodded, searching for comfort in her eyes.

Her brows were furrowed with worry, but she smiled fondly. “Do you want to talk about it?” She gently rubbed a hand up and down his back, and that’s when it happened.

A creeping sensation crawled up his spine.

“No, I’m fine,” he said and pulled away. His heart was beating hard in his chest, his body tense in an emotion he knew all too well.

It was fear.

He really needed to get it together. Running on little to no sleep and terrifying nightmares for two years straight couldn’t be healthy. It wasn’t like his life was a walk in the park, he was entitled to bad dreams and some PTSD, if you asked him, but he would kill for just one good night’s sleep.

Okay, he had done that, the killing, but it had had the exact opposite effect.

He inhaled deeply, willing his body to calm down. It’d been just a nightmare, he was okay, Mom was here, everything was fine.

Except for the itching in his bones that felt just _off_.

“Go back to sleep, I’ll be fine.” He smiled and squeezed her hand.

As he settled back into the covers, his heartbeat slowed and most of the tension left his body. He curled into a ball and closed his eyes. Tomorrow was a school day, his first one after the defeat of the Wild Hunt, and he wanted to look at least halfway alive for that.

He woke up to sunlight shining through the blinds and the smell of pancakes wafting through the house.

The peacefulness was a stark contrast to the dread he’d felt at night, and he closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the calmness before his anxiety would take over and prevent him from relaxing fully, reminding him of all the threats that could be lingering around every corner.

His parents were already sitting at the table in the dining room when he came down the stairs.

“Good morning,” he said groggily as he dropped into a chair.

He was dead tired. It was going to be a struggle not to fall asleep at school. Ever since the Wild Hunt, it’d been like there was a rock sitting on his chest and his eyelids, like he could never fully wake up. It wasn’t that he couldn’t keep dream and reality apart, that thankfully wasn’t the issue this time, but the overwhelming fatigue was starting to get on his nerves.

“Are you okay?” his mom’s concerned voice piped up.

“I’m fine,” he said, meeting her eyes with a smile. No need to worry his parents, he’d caused too much trouble for them already.

Scott greeted him in the school parking lot. “Ready to be back?”

Stiles had taken a few days off after his return. He’d needed time for himself, to come to terms with _existing_ again, basically. “Yeah, fine. It just feels a bit weird.” A lot of students had shared his fate of being erased, so even though they had no idea what had happened to them, at least he wasn’t the only one who’d missed several months of school.

Scott nodded sympathetically and patted his shoulder. “Let’s go inside.”

Stiles’ heart was pounding as he followed Scott to their lockers. People were whispering, but he couldn’t catch whether or not they were talking about him. Just the thought of rumors going around school about him and his friends made his stomach sink, but there was no way that after everything they’d been through for such a long time, no one had noticed something was off about them. It shouldn’t bother him anymore. He didn’t mind people talking about him, but he did mind rumors about him that could potentially ruin his dad’s career. Rumors about Stiles doing drugs, for example.

Lydia was already waiting by his locker. “Hi.”

His heart jumped. “Hi,” he said with a lopsided smile.

They looked at each other for a moment before Stiles averted his eyes. Things had been weird between them ever since he’d come back. He’d told her he loved her right before he’d been erased, and he knew she was the one who’d always believed in his existence. They’d kissed, even, after he’d returned.

But she still hadn’t said it back, and they hadn’t had time to properly talk about their feelings to each other. Stiles wanted to blame it on her, but he was the one who’d hidden in his room for days after the defeat of the Ghost Riders, so the lack of communication was clearly on him.

He wasn’t sure whether he’d hurt her or whether she really loved him, and it was driving him insane. Yes, she’d kissed him, but what if she’d only done it out of adrenaline? Or because she thought she owed him for whatever reason? Her former boyfriends hadn’t been exactly respectful to her, so maybe she had a wrong perception of what he wanted from her… He definitely didn’t want to push her.

He shook his head to chase the thoughts away. If he wanted to know what she was feeling, he needed to ask her, not mope around and overthink.

But not now and not here.

“You okay?” Scott asked, crinkling his nose.

“Yeah.” Stiles shot him a look that told him not to mention whatever emotion it was he could smell on him right now. “Let’s go to class.”

First up was Econ with Coach. Econ had never been Stiles’ favorite subject, and like so many other aspects of school, after everything he’d been through, it just seemed pointless to him. Why should he bother doing his homework and studying for exams when he could die any day? Why should he prepare for his future when the odds were that he wasn’t even going to survive until graduation?

“Stilinski!”

Stiles startled, snapping his eyes open. He hadn’t even noticed they’d fallen shut.

Coach was standing in front of his desk with that trademark scowl. “Don’t think that just because you were missing for three months, you have the right to fall asleep in my class!”

Stiles swallowed and blinked up at him. “Yeah. Sorry, Coach.”

Coach watched him suspiciously for a moment before he turned away. “Teenagers, I don’t even want to know what you’re doing at night to make you so tired,” he muttered.

The class giggled.

Stiles felt Scott’s worried gaze on him, but chose to ignore him. He just wanted this day to get over as quickly as possible, preferably without any life-threatening disturbances.

Unfortunately, he dosed off in very single class, which didn’t ease his friends’ worried glances his way. No one gave him detention, though, that was a plus. Apparently, having been missing for three months granted him a good amount of sympathy from most teachers.

The official explanation for the disappearance of almost the entire town was a mass kidnapper who’d been caught and was now sitting out his life-long prison sentence. It wasn’t a perfect explanation, considering there were a lot of plot holes in it, but it was enough to appease the majority.

So everyone thought he’d been kidnapped and held hostage for months. Teachers and students alike were careful around him, as if he’d snap at one point and get triggered or something.

Joke’s on them, he’d been walking around with unresolved trauma for over two years. The Wild Hunt was just one more thing to add to the ever-growing pile of emotional baggage. He was fine.

“Dude, are you sure you’re okay?” Scott asked at the end of the last lesson.

Stiles closed his eyes for a moment. As much as he appreciated his friends caring about him, a little space would be greatly appreciated as well. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Malia’s nostrils flared and she frowned. “You smell odd.”

“Yeah, I just came back from another plane of existence, sorry I don’t smell heavenly,” he snapped. He just wanted to go home and sleep forever.

Scott looked like he wanted to say something, but Stiles curled his lips into a smile. “Let’s get out of here.”

They followed him out of the building. “Stiles, we’re doing, like, a movie night, you wanna join us?” Scott had a hopeful expression on his face that Stiles didn’t want to destroy.

With a deep sigh, he nodded. “But don’t expect me not to fall asleep halfway through the movie.”

Scott slung his arm around his shoulders on the way to their vehicles. “I’m just really glad we got you back, man.”

Now Stiles smiled for real. “Me too. Want me to bring any movies?” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t suppose you watched Star Wars during my absence?”

Scott shook his head.

“Of course you didn’t.”

“We’re not watching Star Wars tonight!” Lydia piped up.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine! If the movie we’re gonna watch turns out to be shitty, that’s not my fault then.”

Scott just laughed. “See you at six at my place.”

On the drive back home, Stiles’ thoughts went into all directions at the same time again. It was hard to focus, which wasn’t new to him, but lately it’d been especially bad. Hopefully, the movie night was going to be able to distract him from his own thoughts. After days of holing up alone in his room, spending time with his friends was probably the best he could do.

Stiles arrived home ten minutes later. The smell of pasta welcomed him when he entered the house.

“Sweetheart, are you back?” Mom called from the kitchen.

“Yeah!” Only now he noticed how hungry he was. “When’s the food ready?”

She poked her head out of the kitchen. “Now! Come here, sweetheart.”

Stiles smiled and took a seat. His dad was still at work, but Mom was jobless, had been for a while. In fact, Stiles couldn’t remember a time when she had gone to work. She’d simply always been at home in his memory.

“So,” she said, her spoonful of spaghetti hovering in the air as she fixed Stiles’ gaze with her own, “what are your plans for today?”

Stiles squirmed, feeling oddly scrutinized under her eyes. “The pack is having a movie night at Scott’s.” Shrugging, he added, “It’s probably for the best if I socialize a bit after everything.”

Mom narrowed her eyes. “Maybe it would be for the best if you stayed away from those people. They’ve caused you nothing but trouble.”

“What?!” he sputtered. “Mom, they are my friends! Of course I’m going to spend time with them!” How could she say such a thing? Without his friends, there was no him. Moreover, it was _his_ fault they all had been getting into trouble to begin with.

“I just want what’s best for you,” she smiled. “And those people are not good for you.”

Stiles’ heart was pounding fast, his breathing heavy. “Since when is it your job to decide who’s good for me? Trust me, I know who I want to spend time with.”

“I just want to protect you, sweetheart.”

“Oh, yeah? Then where was your protectiveness when I was possessed? When I got taken? Kidnapped? Where were you, huh?” Angry tears prickled at his eyes. “Yeah, because now after you’ve _forgotten_ me, you’re starting to feel bad, huh? Little late, I suppose.”

She held up a hand. “Stiles, I was there all along, I helped get rid of the Nogitsune.”

“No, that was all Dad! You just stood by and watched!”

Before she could respond, Stiles jumped up and fled up the stairs into his room. He slammed the door shut and leaned back against it, shaking hands buried in his hair.

Arguing with his parents always left him with a churning in his gut. He loved them fiercely, but it was true that Mom hadn’t done much for him in the past years, despite being at home most of the time. His dad, however, despite how jarring his job as sheriff was, had been a rock for him ever since he’d told them about the supernatural.

It hurt, how little Mom had been there for him. She’d only ever started to really open up to his issues after the Wild Hunt, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that now. There was an aspect of trust that wasn’t quite there yet.

Stiles occupied himself with homework until it was time to go to Scott’s. His head was swirling with thoughts, making it impossible to focus on the tasks, but he kept staring at his blank paper, forcing himself to at least try.

He was so tired.

He jumped when someone knocked on his door.

“Stiles?” Mom’s voice called out. “Can we talk?”

Pressing his lips to a tight line, Stiles sat silently until he heard footsteps leave. No, he did not want to talk, not when betrayal and disappointment were weighting so heavily on him. He might be acting like a stubborn teenager, but for God’s sake, he was allowed to be a teenager for once after everything that had happened to him, right?

After an hour and a half of staring at his blank sheet of paper, he finally gathered his phone and wallet to drive over to Scott’s. Ever since the fight with Mom, an uncomfortable tension seemed to be hanging over the house. Stiles was eager to get away for a few hours.

“Are you leaving?”

Stiles closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes.”

Mom put a hand on his arm, mouth opened like she wanted to say something, but Stiles flinched away from the touch and was out the door before she got the chance to say a word.

“Okay, just so this is clear,” Lydia stated from her corner of the couch, “we’re not watching Star Wars.”

“Whoa, okay!” Stiles held up his hands. “I’m outvoted, I get it.” Someday, they were going to have to admit that Star Wars was superior. Until then, he had to be patient with them.

They were all crammed on the couch in Scott’s living room. Stiles sat squished between Scott and Malia, Lydia on Malia’s other side. He was glad about the distance between him and Lydia, even though sitting so close to Malia was a little awkward as well, considering she was his ex-girlfriend. However, they were still close friends.

“No film with a lot of violence, either,” Scott said, earning nods from everyone.

After a bit of discussion, they settled on a lighthearted low-budget rom-com from the depths of Netflix. The teenage boy in Stiles wanted to complain, but in truth he was glad. He didn’t need suspenseful or violent movies, he got plenty of that in real life.

While the main protagonist was embarrassing herself in front of her crush, Stiles let his head fall against Scott’s shoulder, his eyelids fluttering shut. Here, between his closest friends he trusted with his life, a warm sense of security settled in his gut.

In another life, Stiles might have found it weird, but he was deeply content as he snuggled closer to Scott’s werewolf warmth and allowed sleep to take over.

When he slowly came to, his head was still resting in the crook of Scott’s neck. The end credits were rolling.

Stiles yawned. It’d been a peaceful, dreamless though short sleep, and he wanted to close his eyes again and go back to it.

“Someone’s awake,” Malia said, softly poking his side.

Stiles squirmed without moving away from where he was glued to Scott’s side. “Yeah. Scott’s a great pillow.” His eyelids drooped, his body heavy. “Wanna sleep.”

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Scott’s voice was worried, alert. “You kept falling asleep at school, too.”

“A little,” Stiles slurred. “Haven’t slept well since Hunt.”

“Go back to sleep,” Scott whispered. “We’ll watch a quiet movie next. Do you need to lie down? You can use my bed.”

“No, ‘s okay.”

“Okay. Sleep, Stiles.”

As he drifted into unconsciousness, a hint of gratitude rose up in his heart. These were his best friends, the only people safe for his dad around whom he felt safe enough to sleep deeply. He wasn’t sure his mom belonged to that exclusive group.

He woke up to Malia gently shaking his shoulder. His eyes snapped open, all his senses jumping into action. “What happened?”

“It’s okay, nothing happened. You slept for two hours.”

Stiles exhaled.

“Your mom is by the door and wants to pick you up,” Lydia said, peeking into the living room from the hall. The tone of her voice gave away her confusion.

Mom wanted to pick him up? Stiles frowned, his heart pounding as his stomach churned with worry. “Mom never picks me up.” He stood up, all peace inside him wiped out by the well-known anxiety.

Scott walked him to the door, resting a hand on his arm when the sight of Mom increased the uneasy feeling in his gut.

“Mom? What happened? Is everything okay?”

Mom waved her hand dismissively. “Nothing happened, but it’s getting late. You shouldn’t be out alone at this hour.”

Stiles tensed. “I’m not alone.” How dare she?

“Come home, Stiles.”

Heart still fluttering, he stared at her for a moment before he nodded. “Bye, guys. See you at school.”

When Scott hugged him goodbye—Stiles had the suspicion that he was doing it because he could smell Stiles’ anxiety—his eyes met Lydia’s over Scott’s shoulder. The banshee was frowning, clearly thinking, but she sent Stiles a quick smile.

“I’m taking the Jeep,” Stiles said outside when Mom approached the family car.

“No, no.” She pulled him away from his beloved vehicle. “That piece of junk is about to fall apart any moment. It’s a miracle it’s even still allowed out on the streets.”

She had a point. Roscoe was held together by nothing but duct tape at this point. Stiles grumbled as he climbed on the passenger seat in Mom’s car.

“You can pick it up tomorrow at daylight.”

Stiles scoffed. “What’s with the over-protectiveness all of a sudden?”

“I don’t understand why you’re so attached to that car. You should really get a new one.”

“No.” Something in Stiles’ heart protested at that thought. But really, why was he so attached to Roscoe? “It’s my first own car.” Somehow, though, he knew that wasn’t the real reason. But no matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn’t figure out why he was so adamant about keeping his Jeep. He chalked it up to nostalgia, although he had a gut feeling it was something deeper.

Mom huffed, but didn’t push it.

Stiles used the following silence to send a quick text to Scott. _Sorry I had to leave, don’t know why mom is like that. Gonna pick up the jeep tomorrow._

Scott’s response was almost immediate. _It’s okay. Maybe tell your mom to use another perfume. Almost made Malia and me throw up._ Because Scott was Scott, the text was followed by a puking emoji and a bunch of laughing ones.

Stiles chuckled and sent laughing emojis back. He didn’t smell anything weird on Mom, but his nose wasn’t hypersensitive like Scott and Malia’s. “Did you get a new perfume?”

Mom glanced at him before she focused back on the road. “No, I’m not wearing any odor right now, why?”

“Then maybe it’s the shampoo or something? It’s nasty for werewolf noses, apparently,” he grinned. “And werecoyote noses, for that matter.”

For a fleeting moment, something reminiscent of fear flickered across her face before she settled on looking annoyed.

Stiles sighed, too tired to analyze Mom’s emotions any further. “You don’t have to like them, but they are my friends and I owe them my life, so, like, at least tolerate them, okay?”

Stiles swallowed down a frustrated groan when Mom didn’t rely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it so far!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos/bookmarks/subscriptions!  
> Enjoy the next chapter!
> 
> TW for flashback/hallucination.

_Mom looks so fragile in her bed. She’s looking at him and smiling softly._

_Stiles is sitting on her mattress, holding her hand. Dad is on a chair beside the bed. A doctor is standing by the foot of Mom’s bed, holding a clipboard, but Stiles only has eyes for Mom._

_Stiles just wants her to be normal again._

_“Her condition worsens,” someone behind Stiles says._

_Stiles turns around, heart in his throat._

_The doctor is suddenly dressed in black and wearing a creepy mask. Wires are sticking out of his surgical gown._

_He takes a step closer and Stiles jumps off the bed into Dad’s lap, shivering._

_Dad ignores him, he’s crying._

_“Mom,” Stiles whimpers._

_Mom locks eyes with him. Her face is sunken in and her skin is sickly pale. She frowns. “Who are you?”_

_Stiles’ heart skips a beat. “What? Mom…”_

_“Who are you?” Her eyes are wide and wild, staring at him in what looks like fear._

_“It’s… Mom, it’s me, Stiles.”_

_No trace of recognition can be found on her face as she continues to glare at him. “Who are you?”_

_Stiles is crying. That’s Mom, Mom who tucks him in at night and bakes cookies and watches TV shows with him. Mom has to know who he is!_

_“Get away from me!” Her voice is full of venom._

_Stiles slides off Dad’s lap and staggers backwards._

_“You did this to me!” she yells, making a move to get out of bed, her frantic eyes never leaving Stiles’._

_Shaking, Stiles presses his back against the wall. He can’t breathe._

_“Her condition is terminal,” the doctor says, now standing right next to Mom. He’s holding a huge syringe._

_“Mom, no,” Stiles wheezes, but no one hears him. He watches in horror as the doctor pushes the syringe into Mom’s neck and her eyes roll back in her head._

Stiles awoke with a gasp, eyes flying open in utter darkness. It took him a moment to realize he was in his bed, curled into a ball so tight his spine was aching. His pillow beneath his cheek felt wet.

It was hard to inhale through his nose. Panic spiked in his gut, then he sniffled and let out a huff.

His nose was full of snot. He was crying.

He was in desperate need of a tissue, but couldn’t bring himself to move just yet. His heart was still racing as the dream played out again in front of his inner eye, tears steadily dripping over his nose onto his pillow.

It had felt so real. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, willing the images to leave his head. The Dread Doctors hadn’t haunted him in his dreams for a while, probably because he hadn’t really seen them very often. This random nightmare had been terrifying, though. His stomach was still churning with the terror and grief his dream-self had felt.

The prospect of losing one of his parents sent shockwaves of fear through his body. He wasn’t sure he would be able to handle that loss. No, he definitely wouldn’t be. Shaking, Stiles pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle his sobs.

It had felt so real.

When his alarm rang hours later, Stiles startled and dropped his phone onto his chest. After having quietly cried through the aftershocks of his nightmare for an hour or so, he’d finally been able to uncurl his body and reach for his phone. Since then—four in the morning—he’d occupied his brain by reading random articles on Wikipedia. It had almost made him forget about the tightness in his chest.

The alarm had interrupted his research on Guatemalan rock, a music genre he’d never heard of before. It’d been the umpteenth randomly chosen article that night.

He’d spent three and a half hours not sleeping after waking up, and if his mushy brain wasn’t mistaken, he hadn’t fallen asleep until, like, one in the morning. That made two hours of sleep in total.

Absolutely great.

With the distraction gone, his anxiety came rushing back at full force. Bad nights were usually followed by bad days, and this particular day didn’t seem to be an exception.

Apprehension was sitting heavily on his stomach while he got ready for school. Beacon Hills was not a safe place to live. Anything could happen at any moment. He could be arriving at school and be faced with a feral omega, or something worse. He could get a call about Scott being dead, or his dad, or Lydia, or his mom, or anyone. The pack could be in danger right now, and he wouldn’t know. He could get kidnapped by hunters. He could get possessed.

A cold shudder ran down the entire length of his body.

He deliberately ignored the shaking of his hands as he brushed his teeth and got dressed.

No one had called or texted him so far, so nothing too bad could have happened, right?

He really needed to get it together.

His entire body froze when he reached the bottom of the stairs and spotted Mom in the kitchen. As she turned to greet him, her face morphed into the pale, ghost-like version of his dream.

Stiles gulped, trying to swallow down the sudden wave of grief crashing down on him.

Mom wasn’t in the hospital, she wasn’t dying, she wasn’t sick. She was here, in the kitchen, looking at him and probably seeing his freak-out.

It’d been just a dream. Just a dream.

“Are you okay?”

Stiles blinked against the sudden moisture in his eyes. “Y-yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

He was out the door before he could figure out what he was apologizing for.

“Are you okay?” was what Scott greeted him with as soon as he met him by their lockers.

Stiles glanced around, not quite appeased when he found no visible threat. “I’m fine. Just a bad night.”

It’d been a few days since the movie night, and Stiles’ sleep schedule hadn’t improved at all. Lying to Scott about it was about as pointless as going against a feral werewolf with a pencil. He was too exhausted to even try.

Scott kept an eye on him the entire day. It was a convenient explanation for the constant prickling in his neck.

He chewed on his pen, bounced both legs, and gripped his desk to hide how much his hands were shaking. In a weird juxtaposition to that, his eyes were burning and threatening to fall shut while he didn’t even bother to try to stifle his yawns. If not for the anxiety keeping him on edge, he probably would’ve fallen asleep multiple times in class.

All his friends kept sending worried glances his way, but he smiled and joked and pretended Scott and Malia couldn’t smell his distress and hear the way his heart was attempting to run a marathon in his chest.

Considering his nerves were frayed to his breaking point, it was bordering on a miracle he made it through most classes.

He should’ve known the relative peace wasn’t going to last.

Lacrosse practice was nice. The running was distracting to his mind, though he ran out of stamina annoyingly quickly. He catapulted the ball with extra force, imagining the goal was his inner demons he was battling.

Coach applauded with a grin. “There you go, Stilinski! Becoming a natural before graduation. Why didn’t you think of blessing us with your skills before?”

“Saving the best for last, Coach!” Stiles laughed and high-fived Scott.

Scott beamed at him.

It started raining a quarter into the game. “Keep going, or are you made of cream cheese?” Coach hollered.

Stiles chuckled and rolled his eyes.

The rain was soon followed by a stark drop in temperature and cold wind. Even this didn’t stop Coach, though, who kept cheering his students on, even though he had to yell louder and louder with each passing minute.

The first roll of thunder made Stiles jump as his fight-or-flight instinct immediately kicked in. Unfortunately, his body decided to freeze instead of fighting or fleeing, so when the storm turned into a real thunderstorm, Stiles couldn’t move, his feet planted firmly on the wet grass. His grip around his lacrosse stick tightened.

“Stilinski!” Coach yelled, but it was drowned out by the rushing in Stiles’ ears.

The wind blew leaves across the field. Hooves were shaking the ground. A horse whinnied.

Stiles snapped his head up. The Ghost Riders were closing in on him.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Stiles was distinctly aware that his heartbeat had to be through the roof, but it didn’t matter. He dropped his stick to grab Scott’s wrist. “Do you see them?” he asked shakily, the wind and thunder almost swallowing his hushed voice.

“See who? There’s no one there.”

Of course Scott couldn’t see them. They were here to get Stiles.

The black horses charged forward. A lasso missed his arm by an inch, and Stiles bolted.

The thundering of hooves followed him as he darted into the general direction of the school building. He couldn’t outrun them, but maybe he could put enough distance between them and himself to find a good hiding place.

Running across the parking lot sent another jolt of fear through his veins.

They were going to take him. Erase him from everyone’s memory. No one was going to remember him. They were going to bring him to an abandoned train station where he was going to spend the rest of his life surrounded by soulless shells of people before he was going to turn into an empty shell himself.

Green flashed in the corner of his eye and he flinched, picking up his pace and trying to breathe through his panic. He tripped and cried out, but kept going, adrenaline pumping his legs forward, his pulse going crazy.

He couldn’t let them get him. He couldn’t let them erase him again.

They were closing in on him, the whipping of their lassos next to his ears cut through the thunder, the hot breath of their horses in his neck.

Stiles dove through the school doors. He collided with someone, let out a startled cry, and continued running. He didn’t know where he was going, where he could hide from these creatures, but he had to get away. Students and teachers were calling after him, but they couldn’t see the riders, they didn’t know what was going to happen to him, they were going to forget him, he couldn’t let that happen, he had to get away—

Someone grabbed his arm and Stiles screamed.

He yanked on his arm, tried to free himself, but the grip of fingers digging into his skin was tight as steel. He whimpered as the riders closed in on him. Throwing his head around for a way to escape, he rammed his elbow into the capturer’s face and fled.

He flew down the basement stairs and plunged through the door, his eyes skipping around to find further escape routes.

There were none.

Bile rose up his throat. He was trapped. Maybe he could hide here somewhere, but they were going to find him.

They were going to erase him.

Heart threatening to burst through his ribcage, he backed himself into the corner farthest from the door. Hidden behind shelves of school supplies that didn’t look they’d make good weapons, he pressed himself against the walls and slid down to the floor when his trembling legs refused to keep him upright.

His entire body was shaking like a leaf. He had to calm down, he had to breathe, but his head was swimming with panic, unable to form coherent thoughts.

The door burst open.

Stiles flinched violently, curling in on himself in the desperate hope to make himself as tiny and invisible as possible.

They were about to find him, they were about to get him, and he was here, huddled on the floor with no way to defend himself. A small, pathetic whimper left his throat.

One single Ghost Rider slowly approached him, like a predator its prey, knowing it had him cornered.

He was about to be erased. He wanted to cry, instead he stared at the rider with wide eyes, waiting for his fate.

“Stiles,” the creature said, and Stiles shrank back.

The Ghost Riders couldn’t speak, could they?

When Stiles blinked, it no longer was a Ghost Rider, but his mom closing in on him. He wanted to warn her to get away from him, away from the Wild Hunt, but his throat was clogged up. No word left his lips.

“Stiles,” Mom spit out. Her voice was so full of hatred, her face so distorted by disgust that Stiles recoiled. “You’re killing me, Stiles.”

What? What was she talking about? He didn’t understand, just stared at her in horror.

“Stop looking at me like that!” she cried shrilly.

Stiles flinched, tears gathering in his eyes.

“Stop looking at me!” She charged at him, and Stiles did the only thing his confused, panicked mind could come up with.

He buried his head between his chest and his knees and covered it with his arms, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t breathe.

“You killed me,” Mom hissed. “You’re still killing me.”

The words cut like knives. He’d rather be erased than this.

Cold shivers ran down his spine when he sensed her hunkering down next to him. His mouth was too dry to speak, but all he wanted to do was apologize for everything he’d ever done to her.

Mom didn’t say anything for a long time, but the presence by Stiles’ side didn’t leave. Gradually, his heartbeat slowed and his lungs expanded, though the tightness of his neck remained.

“Stiles.” It didn’t sound like Mom anymore. “Hey, man, are you… are you okay?”

Scott?

Drawing in a shaky breath, Stiles lifted his head. It was indeed Scott kneeling next to him, keeping a little distance to give Stiles privacy.

Stiles blinked, trying to connect the chase with the Ghost Riders and Mom suddenly appearing to Scott sitting here, his face more worried than Stiles had seen in a long time.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

Scott frowned. “No, you’re not. And that’s okay.” He searched Stiles’ eyes. “Do you want to tell me what happened? Coach called off practice. I wanted to follow you sooner, but I didn’t know if you wanted space…”

Something in Stiles warmed at that. “Thanks, I, uh…” He licked his lips, gaze focused on the floor. “I had a flashback. Sorry.” He chose to not mention hallucinating about Mom telling him he was killing her. He didn’t even know what had caused it. Lack of sleep, sure, but why would his brain come up with _that_ , of all things? The Wild Hunt flashback made sense, though. It was something Scott could understand. The other thing was going to stay hidden from everyone, especially Mom.

“No need to apologize for that. Ever.”

“The storm was real, though, right? The thunderstorm?” He needed to know if there’d been a real trigger or if he’d just randomly freaked out in front of half the school.

“Well, we’re both soaked to the bone. The thunderstorm was real.”

Only now Stiles noticed how wet he was. Funny how his brain had made him see things that hadn’t been there, yet hadn’t bothered to make him notice his clothes and hair were full of water.

“Stiles?”

The tone of his voice made Stiles look up and meet Scott’s eyes.

“I know you don’t want us to smell your emotions, and I get it, but I’ve already lost you. I don’t want to lose you again.” Scott smiled sadly. “So please, talk to someone when you’re not feeling well. Talk to me or to your dad or your mom or a therapist, anyone, just… just don’t think you have to deal with all this alone.”

Stiles’ chest tightened. He didn’t reply and Scott didn’t push it.

Scott didn’t push him to leave, either. He just sat here, just outside Stiles’ personal space yet close enough for Stiles to touch him if he wanted to. He was just kind of there.

Stiles was so grateful he wanted to cry.

A new thought shot through Stiles’ head, accompanied by a familiar sting of guilt. “There was someone in the hallway… They held my arm. I thought… I thought the Ghost Riders were coming for me, so I, uh, I panicked and kinda elbowed them…” His eyebrows furrowed. “I have no idea who it was. I just know I punched pretty hard.”

“That was Miss Martin.”

“Oh God,” Stiles groaned and dropped his head. Of course, of all teachers he could have punched, it had to be the principal, and, on top of that, Lydia’s mom. Fate must really hate him.

“Stiles, it’s okay. No one is judging you. Miss Martin is in the know. You’re okay.”

Except that it wasn’t okay. He’d freaked the fuck out, which, okay, he understood why, but then he’d punched a teacher in front of everyone’s eyes, and he’d hallucinated Mom.

After the nightmare he’d had of Mom dying, the hallucination was all the more disturbing. In both, Mom had accused him of doing something to her. Maybe she was right? Maybe his subconscious was trying to tell him something.

The last time he’d suffered from hallucinations and nightmares and insomnia, he’d been possessed by an evil spirit. He didn’t dare to even consider that possibility now, he’d rather die than go through that again.

God, he needed so much therapy, he was aware of that, but the mere thought of having to unpack everything that had happened to him that he’d shoved into the furthest corner of his brain was making his skin crawl.

Scott stayed with him until Stiles was ready to face the world again. Stiles wanted to give him a hug, but his skin was itching and the prospect of being touched only worsened the feeling.

Instead, he flashed his friend a smile and hoped it was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
